The Wizarding Adventure
by AuraRaine
Summary: Things are different in Hogwarts with the Adventure Time cast


Harry's POV:

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Harry get it." Dudley argued.

"Get the mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

I dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail.

Three things laid on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was on holiday at the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and a letter for myself. I picked it up and stared at it rather nervously, I'd never received a letter, not ever. Never in my whole life had I received a letter from anyone. I had no family, my Mum and Dad were killed in a car crash. I had no friends, Dudley had made sure of that. He'd bullied me for as long as I could remember. Dudley was a lot like Uncle Vernon. He was 'slightly overweight' as I have been told to put it. He was rude, like the whole Dursley family though. My thoughts were dragged back to the letter. It obviously wasn't from the library as I didn't join the library, so I couldn't be getting on of those threatening letters about charges of an overdue library book I considered had the letter been a mistake? It was impossible. The letter was for me. It had clearly written :

'Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey'

It was almost impossible for it to be a mistake. The address was so accurate, the cupboard under the stairs? How could anyone possibly know I was in the cupboard under the stairs?

The envelope was a heavy, especially for a letter, it was awfully thick and was made of a light yellowish parchment. The address had been written in a emerald green ink. The letter didn't have a stamp. It made the letter even more curious, frightening also but curious. My hands were shaking slightly, I'd never received a letter before, what if this were some sick joke Dudley had pulled? When I open it a bug crawls out or something. I turned the letter over and I saw a wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake which surrounded a large letter H.

"What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" Uncle Vernon chuckled at his own joke.

"Yes," I thought "You never know what this letter could contain."

I trudged back to the kitchen, I carried on staring at the letter. I felt as if I looked away, it wouldn't be in my hands anymore. I handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the post card but kept hold of my own letter. Uncle Vernon tore open the bill, grunted in disgust and flipped over the postcard. "Marge's ill." He told Aunt Petunia. "Ate something funny-"

He was interrupted by a screaming Dudley yelling "Dad! Dad, Harry's got a letter!"

I was starting unfold the letter which was written on a similar parchment of what the envelope was made of when it was snatched from my grip.

"That's mine!" I shouted at Dudley trying to snatch my letter back from his grubby hands.

"Who'd be writing to you?" Uncle Vernon sneered. He opened the letter and glanced at it. His red face drained of colour. It turned from red to green faster than traffic lights. His face turned a grey-white colour.

"P-P-Petunia." He stuttered nervously.

Dudley attempted to snatch the letter from Uncle Vernon's hand so he could read it. Dudley could never seem to keep his large nose out of anything, he was stupid really. Aunt Petunia took the letter from the large man and read the letter. She also turned as white as a sheet and appeared as she could faint. It was rather funny to see all this commotion from my point of view but the more reactions I saw. I had an increasing urge to find out what was in the letter, surely it wasn't that bad? Aunt Petunia choked out "Vernon! He is just like my sister. A freak. Oh my goodness, Vernon what are we to do?"

Dudley was starting to grow annoyed, he poked Uncle Vernon with his Smelting stick. "I want to read that letter," I snapped "You know as it's my letter." I added on furiously.

"Get out! Both of you." Uncle Vernon yelled, spit flew from his mouth which put showed how he was becoming angry. I refused to move. I wanted my letter.

"I want my letter!" I shouted as loud as I could.

"Let me read it!" Dudley demanded.

"Out!" roared Uncle Vernon.

He grabbed both Dudley and I by the collar of our shirts and dragged us into the hall, he slammed the kitchen door in our faces. Dudley and I fought over who would listen through the keyhole. Dudley won so I was forced to listen through the crack at the bottom of the door.

"Vernon, look at the address, how can they know where he sleeps? It's impossible! Are they watching us? Our house?" Aunt Petunia said with a shaky voice.

"Watching, spying, could even be follow us." Uncle Vernon muttered.

"What do we do? Write back, tell him we don't want him attending-"

"No. We'll ignore the letter. If they don't get an answer they won't bother. That's right we won't do anything. But, we can't have one of those freaks in our house Petunia. I won't stand for it. We said we'd stamp out all that nonsense."

When Uncle Vernon arrived home from work he did something rather unusual. He visited me in my cupboard.

"Where's my letter? Who's writing to me?" I asked as soon as Uncle Vernon opened the cupboard door.

"No-one, it was addressed to you by mistake," He explained briefly. "I burned it."

"It had my cupboard written on it," I argued. "I wasn't a mistake!"

"Silence!" He yelled. He then tried to smile at me which appeared for him to be gritting his teeth rather than smiling. "Well yes. Your cupboard. Your Aunt and I discussed about it. We both agreed you are getting to big for it. We came to the decision to give you Dudley's second bedroom." He explained.

"Why?" I questioned.

"Don't ask questions!" He snapped. "Take your things upstairs right now boy."

The house was four bed roomed. One which was for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors, one where Dudley actually slept and the other for all the toys Dudley could not fit in his actual bedroom. It only took one trip to take everything I owned into Dudley's second bedroom. I owned very little. Anything I did own was either previously Dudley's or broken.

I looked around the room, most of the toys were abandoned looking. There was bookshelf that was full of different types of books. A great deal of the toys were broken because Dudley had either punched, kicked or sat on them.

From downstairs I could hear Dudley screaming "I don't want him in there! I need that room. Tell him to get out."

I laid back on the bed, yesterday I would have done anything to be in this room. Today I would rather be back in my small cupboard.

Breakfast the next morning was intensely awkward. Dudley had caused such a horrific scene over me moving into his room. He'd screamed, yelled, hit Uncle Vernon with his Smelting stick, been sick a few times intentionally, kicked Aunt Petunia and even thrown his pet tortoise over the green house roof. Even this didn't successfully get Dudley his room back. I thought back bitterly to yesterday, how I'd wished I'd opened that letter in the hall way. All this drama would have not happened.

Uncle Vernon had forced Dudley to get the mail. He was not impressed.

Dudley screamed down the corridor "There's another one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive."

Uncle Vernon leapt to his feet and ran to get the letter, I was close behind him. Everyone wrestled for the letter but Uncle Vernon had succeed in getting the letter. He had yelled at both Dudley and I to go. I walked around my new room wondering how is it possible someone knows I had moved from my cupboard into the smallest room? They had also known that I hadn't got my letter. So, surely if my logic was correct they would simply try again.

I had a plan for the next day. The fixed alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. I turned it off immediately and dressed as quietly as I could. I knew I had to be silent, I crept down the stairs. I was planning on waiting for the post man when my plan fell through. I had trod on something large but squashy. It was most certainly alive. I then realised I had trod on my Uncle. He had been under the letter box in a sleeping to prevent me from doing what I was planning to. He screamed at me for a great of time then ordered me to make him a cup of tea. I headed to the kitchen feeling miserable and my head hanging low.

The mail arrived. A letter with green ink and was addressed to me landed on Uncle Vernon's lap. Before I could open my mouth to speak he'd already torn it into pieces.

He didn't go to work. He'd stayed at home. He had completely blocked off the letter box so I couldn't read the letters.

"If they can't deliver them, they'll give up."

"I don't think it'll work." Aunt Petunia replied.

"Their minds work differently to ours. They're strange they are not like you or me."

The letter no longer came through the letter box but they were pushed underneath the door and even were pushed through cracks in the bathroom window. Uncle Vernon stayed home again. He carried on boarding up every place he could think a letter would fit through. (After he'd burned all the other letters he did that.)

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked in amazement.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy. "No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his toast and read the newspaper, "No damn letters today." Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets.

I jumped up to catch one of the letters. Letters broke through the letter box and flew into the house.

Hundreds of letters must have flew into the house. I tried to grab one but Uncle Vernon yelled "That's it! We're going far away! Somewhere they'll never find us!"

With that we had to pack a few things and we ended up in a house that was built on rocks it was indeed far away. Dudley had been given the privilege of sleeping on the sofa. I had a sheet and a tattered blanket. The floor was covered in thick dust. I drew a birthday cake on the floor and wrote 'Happy Birthday Harry' just below. I added eleven candles, a reminder I was now eleven years old.

I counted down. I blew out the imaginary candles when suddenly a loud crash was heard. Someone was trying to get in.

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake. "Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly. There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them. "Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you, I'm armed!" There was a pause. Then a loud smash! The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor. A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair. The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger to Dudley as he took a seat on the sofa. Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon. "An' here's Harry!" said the giant.

I looked at the giant, I didn't have the slightest clue of who he was.

"Yeh look a lot like yet dad, but yeh've got yet mum's eyes."

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise. I demand that you leave at once, sit!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

"Anyway , Harry," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "A very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here! I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right." From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box.

I opened the box nervously, inside was a chocolate cake that had 'Happy Birthday Harry' written across it in green icing. Least someone remember it was my birthday.

"Who are you?" I asked confused.

"Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper of Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts. Most people jus' call me Hagrid."

Hagrid began talking about a place called Hagrid. Uncle Vernon and Hagrid started arguing.

"I mean, they're famous. Yer famous." He said to me.

"What? My mum and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Yeh don' know... yeh don' know..." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice. "Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sit! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" I asked eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yet heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry, yer a wizard."

Hermione's POV:

"Hermione dear, could you get the post please?" Mum asked me as we were all about to sit down at the breakfast table.

"Alright, I'm sitting there." I replied, pointing at the seat in the kitchen table I wanted to sit it. I walked down the corridor and up to the front door, it was surprisingly chilly despite the fact it was half way through the summer. Four letters were sitting at the doormat underneath the post box. I bent down and shuffled the letters to see what was there. There was a letter addressed for me it said:

"Miss. H. Granger

The Second Largest Bedroom

14 Epsom Road

Surrey"

I gasped at the letter that appeared to be made from yellowish parchment. I hurried back into the kitchen and handed my Mum the letter. I plopped into my seat and stared at my letter in confusion. Mum looked up from the letters and asked "What have you got there, sweetie?"

"A letter. Quite a strange letter too. It appears to have been delivered by an owl. Not only that but it is addressed to my bedroom." I explained.

My Dad looked up from his paper "Sorry, Hermione. Honey, it sounded like you said it was addressed to your bedroom."

"I did say that. It says 'The Second Largest Bedroom.' I find it strange." I told my Dad.

I opened the letter, my Mum and Dad both watching me nosily. The parchment inside was also a yellowy colour, I opened the letter and it read:

"HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss. H. Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

On the second page, it had everything that I would require to attend Hogwarts:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM: First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS: All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK

Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus"

My Mum and Dad both looked at me wide eyed. I was just as confused. I was a witch? A witch attending a school designed for witches and wizards? I laughed a little "Nice one. You almost got me then."

"The joke isn't from us." Mum said confused.

"Well, we can write back, if you would like to go?" Dad suggested not taking his eye off the paper.

"Hermione, this does make sense. When you get upset, things to tend to smash for no reason. It suddenly begins raining when it was a summer afternoon," My Mum explained. "I think it would be best if you went, so you learnt to control you, possessed power but if you'd rather-"

"No, I'd love to go. They'd be people like me there."

"Alright, dear. I'll send the owl back with your letter. I'll give it a piece of bread. It probably travelled far. I'll try and find out where we can get your school supplies."

With that, my Mum went out side and fed the owl. It appeared extremely unimpressed with the bread but nevertheless ate it.

My Dad didn't seem to care I was a witch. It didn't particularly bother him. He was proud but not like how my Mum was. My Mum was practically glowing with pride, it was slightly humiliating how proud she was of me. She told me about this place in London where we could buy all my school supplies. I believe it was called 'Diagon Alley.' It sounded pleasant. I would surely meet other Hogwarts students there. At least then when I arrive I might see a few friendly faces.

Ron's POV:

"Ron!" My Mum yelled to me. "Your letter, it's here. You're going to Hogwarts, be in Gryffindor like the family has been for centuries." She rambled.

Worry started to build up inside of me. What if I became a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw? Or even worse. What about if I became a Slytherin. There's never been a witch or wizard that came from Slytherin that was good. Everyone that leaves from Slytherin has always got a dark side. I sighed and began eating my breakfast, I think it was impossible for anything to put me off my food. I devoured my breakfast. "Oh Ronnie! We're so proud!" Mum beamed.

"Mu-um please." I moaned.

"Right then. You can help clear up from the breakfast table. Chop, chop." She said clapping to make me move.

"Alright, I'm moving." I sighed.

Fred and George both snickered. (My two brothers, who were twins. They had this creepy twin thing, they say things at the same time and everything.)

Mum pointed at them. "Just for that, you can clear the gnomes from the garden."

They both complained but nevertheless headed outside. Mum was not a person to get on the wrong side of. She could be quite frightening when she was shouting at you specially. Most muggles think gnomes are cute little ornament for gardens. Dad showed us a picture. Wrong. Gnomes were vicious creatures that over run your garden if you don't clear them out.

I couldn't wait to start Hogwarts. Rumour had it that Harry Potter (The Boy Who Lived) would be attending and he would be in my year! How amazing? I felt bad though, everything for Hogwarts was terribly expensive. With such a large problem that caused a problem. We always had money issues. I'd either end up with some old book of my brother's or a second hand copy. A second hand copy was better than turning up with no book at all. It's a shame we couldn't afford a new owl. Errol was getting old and tired now. He could barely make any journeys any more. If the money can't stretch. It can't. I had one thing to look forward to though. Meeting Harry Potter.


End file.
